


Hopeless Case

by LugianBeforeSwine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, M/M, rated purely for swearing, written in sep 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LugianBeforeSwine/pseuds/LugianBeforeSwine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Romano learns that maybe codependency isn't so bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hopeless Case

Romano had never meant for it to get this bad.

Yes, he was aware that he was helplessly dependent on Spain, although he would certainly never admit as much out loud, and it was terrible to even think about. But he had always been confident that he could take care of himself if the situation truly called for it.

This belief had led him through the events of the night prior. Spain needed to leave in order to speak to his people in a distant part of his country, and Romano had assured him over and over again that he was perfectly capable of not getting into trouble for the day that Spain would be gone. The final altercation of the night had ended with Romano proclaiming that he had his "own fucking house, for crying out loud," (not that he stayed there very often, but that was only because if he went to Spain's house he could get free meals all day) and Spain had conceded that that was a valid point in terms of independence and had finally taken his leave.

This was why Romano was currently sprawled out on Spain's sofa, stomach aching, head splitting, and defiance raging, preventing him from calling anyone for help.

It had all started off well enough. Romano had decided to spend the night at Spain's house, since he couldn't be bothered to drag himself all the way back home, and right before Spain left he had cooked dinner for the two of them, so Romano was full and at least moderately happy. When he had retired to the bedroom (of course he was going to sleep in Spain's bed; it's not like he would ever choose a rigid sofa over a comfy bed, regardless of the specific tomato bastard who had slept there prior), he had discovered, to his horror, that Spain had left him a note.

_Roma,_

_Please don't get into any trouble while I'm gone. I know you can take care of yourself, but I can't help worrying about you!_

_Love,_

_Boss_

Romano had crunched up the letter in his hands and resolutely ignored the way his heartbeat sped up at the word 'love'. The idiot would only be gone for one day! How much trouble could Romano possibly get into in that short span of time?

So Romano had slept, and it had been nice, and everything had been perfectly fine until about an hour after he had woken up. It was almost noon, his stomach was growling, and Spain had neglected to leave him an adequate supply of food. After exhausting all of his tomato-based resources, he had turned to the only edible food left, which happened to be a large package of churros.

No. Just no. Romano was not going to go there.

There was, of course, nothing stopping him from going to the grocery store a few streets away, except for his laziness and inability to communicate well. So, instead of being productive, Romano had loudly griped to no one and then settled down on the couch, intending to read a book or a newspaper or do something to divert his attention from the nagging feeling of emptiness in his stomach. Stupid Spain, knowing that Romano would stay at his house and yet failing to provide for his basic needs. Then again, Romano had insisted that he could take care of himself… No, it was still Spain's fault for not realizing that that wasn't quite the case.

Blaming Spain for his problems was Romano's default and something he felt quite comfortable with, so he had temporarily forgotten his hunger as he half-heartedly read a newspaper (in Spanish, no less. It was grueling.) Eventually, whether from the lack of food or the taxing process of reading the Spanish newspaper, Romano had developed quite a headache, and so was practically incapacitated.

It wasn't strictly his fault. Sure, he could have gone to the grocery store. Sure, he could have called Veneziano, who would have gladly brought ingredients to Spain's house and cooked for him. Sure, he could have just gone home after Spain left. But Spain  _knew_  Romano, quite possibly even better than Romano's own brother did, and therefore should have known that leaving him alone was a stupid idea.

There was nothing that could be done now, though, so Romano continued to lie on the couch and occasionally grumble about how he wished Spain would just get home already. Only because he needed someone to buy him food and bring him painkillers, mind. Not because he missed the idiot.

(Although maybe tonight he could sleep in Spain's bed  _with_  Spain, just to benefit from the extra body heat, of course. That might be nice, as long as the pervert didn't try anything.)

Adding a heat-flushed face to his list of bodily ailments, Romano decided to try to sleep until Spain returned. It took a while, but he eventually fell asleep on the sofa, and when he awoke it was just after 10 PM and he couldn't detect any signs of Spain's being home (like the bastard hovering over his face while he was sleeping, for instance.)

Romano was just starting to become worried despite his better judgment when he heard a key in the front door. Without thinking, he jumped to his feet and raced into the front room, his stomach roiling and head pounding, and prepared to punch Spain a good one as soon as his face was in range of Romano's fist.

His plan fell through, however, when Spain stepped into the house and saw Romano standing a few feet away from the door. He dropped the bag he was carrying and placed a small bouquet he had been holding on a table near the entry. "Roma!" he exclaimed cheerfully and immediately rushed to him, wrapping him up in a rib-breaking hug.

"What the fuck are you doing, you bastard?!" was what Romano would have said, had his words not been horribly muffled by Spain's shoulder.

As it was, Spain continued talking and gave no indication that he had heard anything. "Were you waiting for me? Is everything all right?" Spain pulled back far enough to look Romano in the eyes and asked, "Did you miss me?"

If anything, the slightly hopeful tone in his voice only made Romano's anger fiercer. "Of course not!" he spat, breaking free of Spain's grasp at last.

"Of course not," Spain repeated dutifully, but his smile stayed in place. Then he looked over to the table and remembered the bouquet. "Oh, Romano! I brought you something." He picked up the bouquet, which was plainly wrapped and rather tiny, and handed it to Romano, grinning. "A few of the townspeople made this for me! These flowers are all wild, so I guess they're like weeds, but aren't they pretty?"

Well, yes, they were, Romano grudgingly admitted to himself. He carefully took the bouquet from Spain's outstretched hand, his poor physical condition temporarily forgotten. "If they made it for you, why the hell are you giving it to me?"

"They said they hoped it would brighten my mood when I was having a bad day, but I already have you to do that." And then Spain winked. And Romano really wanted to deck him, because he should have known a horribly cheesy line like that was coming, but instead he just rubbed at his eyes with his free hand and said nothing. And he might have been blushing, too, but does that really matter?

"Well," Spain continued, as if he hadn't been expecting a response, "did everything go okay?"

And then Romano remembered the poor state his body was in, and the pain came crashing back over him, making him shout. "No! Absolutely not! You didn't leave me enough food, so my stomach really hurts. And there was nothing to read but stupid Spanish newspapers so then I got a headache. And then you got back late and I've pretty much been miserable all day without you!" Oh. Well. That didn't come out quite the way he had intended it to. Now dumbass Spain was going to think—

"So you did miss me!" Spain looked far too happy about this little revelation; it was just cruel.

Romano huffed indignantly. Admittedly, he had missed Spain. Maybe. A little. "No, I just meant—"

"Come in the kitchen and I'll cook you something. What would you like?"

Now Romano was confused. Hadn't he just finished telling Spain that there was nothing left to eat? And why was Spain still so full of energy after a full day of work? Not that Romano particularly cared, it was just strange. He placed the bouquet on the sofa and followed Spain into the kitchen. "I just told you, idiot, there's no food left."

"Are you sure?" Spain asked in a sing-song voice as he opened a cupboard that Romano hadn't known existed. It was packed with boxes and cans of food.

"Wha—" Romano stammered. "What the hell is that?"

"After all the time you've spent here, you still don't know this cupboard exists?" Spain laughed, and Romano knew he was only teasing, but it still pissed him off. As Romano mentally gathered up the appropriate words for a burst of indignant outrage, Spain said, "I am sorry that you weren't comfortable, though. I hope I can make it up to you!"

Romano's headache was already starting to disappear, and he felt at least marginally better than he had before Spain had gotten back home. Well, that was interesting. "You can start by making me some pasta," he grumbled, sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs.

Spain turned to look at him over the counter, smiling, and nodded. "Will do!" Their eyes remained locked for a few seconds before Romano suddenly became very interested in the tabletop.

As Spain cooked for them, Romano covertly watched him, just because there was nothing better to do, and he noticed that Spain appeared to be getting more and more drowsy. By the time they had finished their extremely late dinner and cleared the plates, Spain was practically falling over, his eyelids half closed.

"If you're that tired, why don't you just go to bed?" Romano asked irritably as they sat on the sofa, the bouquet moved to an end table for now.

"Will Romano join me?" Spain asked sleepily.

Romano flushed crimson and shook his head fiercely. "O-of course not!" he spluttered. No need to mention that he had been hoping for that exact scenario to occur.

Spain just smiled at him, that stupid, infuriating smile, and then attempted to stand up, wobbling a little before righting himself. "Okay then," he said. "Can Boss at least have a good-night kiss?"

Something in Romano snapped. This was not uncommon, except usually the 'snap' was followed by a burst of fury and a torrent of curse words. This one brought with it an odd, warm flush and a sudden desire for compliance. Not that Romano had never felt this way before (but it was never directed at Spain, of course, because that would be ridiculous), but the feeling still nearly scared him and before he knew it he was standing up and Spain was looking at him with his sleepy eyes and slightly pleading expression and—well, fuck.

Romano carefully placed his hands on Spain's shoulders and leaned in to give him the smallest of pecks on the cheek—just to appease Spain and the weird feeling in Romano's chest—and the bastard smiled like the greatest thing in the world had just occurred.

Before Romano could remove his hands and back away, Spain wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him back in, and so Romano looped his arms around Spain's neck, but only because it was awkward to be holding onto his shoulders from this close a distance.

"Thank you," Spain whispered. "And I'm sorry you had such a bad day."

"Just don't leave again," Romano muttered, and it seemed that nothing he said today was coming out with the proper connotations attached.

Spain chuckled and Romano lost track of how long they stood there as he processed some information that was surprisingly easy to think about. So he was dependent on Spain. If today had proven anything, it was that. It didn't bother him overly much, though, especially since it appeared that Spain was also dependent on him, albeit probably to a lesser degree. If they both had an unhealthy dependence on the other, then they cancelled each other out, right?

Finally, Spain released him. "Goodnight, Roma!" he said cheerfully, and he began to walk to his bedroom.

"Spain, wait," Romano heard himself say.

Spain turned, an unguarded, hopeful look in his eyes. "Yes?"

Romano fidgeted, shifted his gaze downward, and blushed.  _Dammit, dammit, dammit._  "I'm coming with you."


End file.
